


Clumsy, Competent

by spibby



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gladio is an Idiot, Ignis Scientia is Scarily Adept, Iris is a good sister, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, can be considered brotherhood era or canon divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25855534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spibby/pseuds/spibby
Summary: “Hey, I’m good at plenty of things that Ignis isn’t,” Gladio puts out there, mostly for good measure. The two sets of skeptical eyes that peer back at him from the couch, however, put him on the defensive. “What? I am!”“Like what,” Prompto asks, then freezes a bit as he realizes the implication of his question. He flashes an apologetic smile, but Noct just laughs like the obnoxious runt he is. Ignis, for his part, stands to clear away the dishes without saying anything, which is as close to a personal attack against Gladio as the man has ever gotten. After a moment of looking between his friends and receiving no back up from any of them, Galdio huffs and rolls his eyes.If that’s how it’s gonna be, he thinks, then challenge accepted.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	Clumsy, Competent

**Author's Note:**

> I love writing fanfiction about things that are complete! And then going “no, this tho,” and changing the context of everything. This started as an attempt at a “5 + 1” type of fic, and then it spiralled out of control. This fic could also be titled “Gladio thinks about the different ways Ignis smiles, but is too dense to think about it much.”
> 
> I wrote most of this in a sleep haze with no beta, so if someone sees something, lmk! Enjoy:)

“Is there anything you’re not good at?”

It was meant mostly as a jest, brought on by the honestly sumptuous dinner and dessert combo that Ignis had set out for what was supposed to be a simple sleepover at Noct’s place. Ignis’s culinary skills were nothing new, but even after Noct argued one-sidedly for a half hour in favor of ordering a pizza, neither he nor Prompto, who likely took his side on principle, could complain about the incredible rice bowl and chiffon cake that the advisor delivered. 

“I’m sure there are many things that I can’t do,” Ignis answers, which is such a posh and dismissive statement that Gladio snorts. Ignis has a lot of pride, he knows, but he also has the skill to back it up. 

“Nah, Specs has it all put together,” Noct says, pushing up from the table and throwing himself onto the couch with a reckless bounce. “He always has. Dad calls him ‘unflappable,’ whatever that means.”

The placid expression Ignis displays breaks just long enough to smile in self-satisfaction. Gladio has to hand it to the kid prince, he certainly knows how to flatter his friends. If Gladio believed it was intentional, he’d even be impressed. If only he talked to other diplomats like that… he might even make a good politician one day. Ignis’s smile slips back into his typical range of calm happiness as he looks over Prompto and Noct play-fighting over space on the sofa. Once Noct gives in and sits up to plug in their gaming console, Prompto leans back onto his elbows far enough that he can make upside-down eye contact with Gladio.

“Don’t worry, big guy, you’re good at plenty of things too.”

“Just not as many,” Noct jabs absentmindedly. He has the audacity to ignore Gladio’s glare, too, so he vows to stand in front of the prince at a critical moment in the next level of his game.

“Hey, I’m good at plenty of things that Ignis isn’t,” Gladio puts out there, mostly for good measure. The two sets of skeptical eyes that peer back at him from the couch, however, put him on the defensive. “What? I am!”

“Like what,” Prompto asks, then freezes a bit as he realizes the implication of his question. He flashes an apologetic smile, but Noct just laughs like the obnoxious runt he is. Ignis, for his part, stands to clear away the dishes without saying anything, which is as close to a personal attack against Gladio as the man has ever gotten. After a moment of looking between his friends and receiving no back up from any of them, Galdio huffs and rolls his eyes. 

If that’s how it’s gonna be, he thinks, then challenge accepted. 

It seems like cheating, a bit, when Gladio thinks about it, that the first thing he tries is something that he, himself, has had so much practice at. But, when it comes down to it, if there’s one thing Gladio knows he does well, it’s fight. He already knows that Ignis is no slouch in the field and that he worked hard and long to assure his position as Noctis’s right hand, but his talents lie in evasion and tactics over brute force. So, if Gladio suggests in their next sparring session that Ignis should try training with a sword every once in a while, well. He only feels a bit guilty. 

He shouldn’t have bothered. 

As soon as the advisor picks his weapon, a small-sword similar to those used in fencing, he shifts his stance with practiced ease. Their fight goes about in almost the same fashion as always; Gladio’s strength and stamina battling against Ignis’s careful maneuvering and sharp eye for opportunity. If anything, it’s Gladio who’s thrown off by the subtle shift in dynamic, with Ignis staying closer than his typical distanced range. The larger man finds himself distracted by the way his opponent’s blade dances through the air. He shouldn’t be surprised, what with Ignis’s skill for precision in all aspects, but for some reason that application to a sword fight makes Gladio feel charged in a way, like they’re sparring for the first time instead of the thousandth. 

“I stand corrected,” Gladio admits after they finish in yet another stalemate, “You clearly don’t need more time with a longer blade. That was… pretty incredible.”

“Thank you, Gladio,” Ignis says, and he seems like he’s genuinely pleased to hear the praise. Gladio’s chest squeezes for a moment, chagrined at his mild attempt to trick the man into failing if he holds Gladio’s opinion so highly. But Ignis keeps speaking, so Gladio puts those thoughts aside. “However, were we truly clashing as enemies, I fear your skill with blades would outpace mine in the end.”

That might be true, Gladio supposes, though it’s unlikely Ignis would ever end up in a true, life-or-death battle with a sword instead of his typical daggers and polearms. They start making their way to the locker room as he contemplates this. 

“Maybe,” he says, “But that doesn’t mean you’re not good. Swords and shields are my thing, y’know. I wouldn’t expect to beat you with a polearm. Or magic, gods forbid.”

The comment has the intended effect of making Ignis smile in that soft way he does when he’s happily amused but doesn’t want to offend anyone. It’s one of Gladio’s favorite expressions, so he considers this a win. 

Except that he hadn’t actually won, insofar that he hadn’t found something that Ignis didn’t do well. Maybe not as well as Gladio himself, but that doesn’t really mean that he’s bad at it. In fact, Ignis handles a blade with the same adept proficiency that he handles tetchy diplomats with petty complaints about decorum, or other bullshit. Under the spray of the shower, Gladio shivers, grateful that his position has him more likely to deal with blades and beasts over lords and propriety. He doesn’t know how Ignis manages it. And he keeps up with Noctis’s ridiculous needs, all while maintaining top form in three different weapon classes?

Damn. Gladio will have to think of something more particular if he’s gonna find Ignis’s weakness. 

“Hey, Iggy,” he calls halfway through dressing, “What’s the rest of your week look like? Busier than usual?”

Ignis appears from where he’d been styling his hair in the mirror, though he quickly turns to allow Gladio the privacy to get dressed. 

“Hm,” he hums quietly, apparently considering the question. Gladio notices he left a few locks of hair down from his usual style. The strands fall on the man’s shower-pinkened skin and make him look younger. It’s good, Gladio thinks, considering he is young, even if people forget. 

“No busier than usual,” Ignis says finally, startling Gladio, who quickly tugs on his pants, a little taken aback at having been caught zoning out so thoroughly. 

“That means stupid busy,” Gladio counters good-naturedly.

“Not too busy, should you need me,” Ignis clarifies. 

It makes Gladio feel an affectionate sort of warmth that Ignis would rearrange his schedule for him. The guilt from earlier comes back, since he’s really not got the best of intentions, but he purses his lips and thinks about it anyway. 

“Not need, exactly, but I figure you probably should have a break at some time. Take a look and see if you have any time and we can go into town. It’s fine if it’s early morning or late evening.” 

Ignis gives him a look, like he’s trying to suss out why he’s asking, so Gladio puts on the most innocent, casual expression he can muster. It’s not actually that unusual for the two to hang out, especially recently, and eventually Ignis seems to accept this as within Gladio’s normal behavior..

“I will make sure to find some time and let you know.”  
“Great!” Gladio flinches inwardly. That sounded… too excited. Ignis raises an eyebrow but just moves past it.

“Until then, I have to go. Have a good day, Gladio.”

“You too, Iggy.”

As they part ways, Gladio considers how much time he has to figure out possible skills that Ignis lacks. It only takes a moment to realize that nothing immediately comes to mind. There should be a better word to describe Ignis’s frankly frightening level of competency. He’s still thinking about it, even as he throws his leather jacket on and slams his locker shut. He didn’t have much to do today, with Noct at school and no new Kingsglaive to train for another month, so he started his trek back home. 

Over the course of the next few hours, Gladio tried to think of something that Ignis might potentially not have perfected in his twenty-someodd years alive. He started with a list of things he knew the man excelled at -- creating battle tactics, understanding the nuances of the political climate, cooking, intelligent fashion, getting Noct to actually do work and eat vegetables (a miracle in and of itself)…. The list went on forever, leaving Gladio to think that maybe this really was a futile effort on his part. After a while, Iris popped a head into the home library where Gladio migrated in the hopes of finding some inspiration. 

“Hey, Gladdy, Jared says that dinner will be ready soon… What are you doing?”

Gladio glanced around at the scattered books and disheveled papers that formed a radial fractal around him. 

“Uh…” he begins, “I’m trying to think of things that Iggy doesn’t know.”

Iris raises her eyebrow in a way that reminds Gladio of their father when he’s particularly unimpressed. He can’t help but shift a little, uncomfortable under her gaze. 

“You’re trying to find something that Ignis doesn’t know… in our library? I hate to break it to you, Gladdy, but Ignis probably has read all these books. Well, probably not your romance novels, but I’m not sure that those would teach him anything new.”

Gladio sighs and begins to put all the various biographies, histories, and generally dry texts back onto their shelf. Iris is right about Iggy being well-read, though that wasn’t really what he was searching for anyway. There isn’t anyone smarter than that man, anyway, so there really wasn’t any point to try and outwit him that way. 

“I was looking for inspiration, actually. There’s gotta be something he can’t do. Maybe he’s got two left feet, or is tone deaf…”

Iris actually laughs out loud at this. 

“Ignis is one of the most graceful people we know, and he definitely taught Noct to dance for royal balls. I’ve never heard him sing, but I know he can play the piano really well, so tone deaf isn’t likely either.” 

He hates it when she’s right. Not that he really thought either of those ideas held any merit in the first place, but still, she didn’t have to be so smug about it.

“Why do you even want to find something like that?” Iris asks, popping a hand on her hip and leaning against a nearby wall. When asked so simply like that, Gladio finds he doesn't really have a good answer for her. 

“He’s…. Just good. At like, everything. Noct and Prompto were giving me a hard time about it.”

At the mention of the crown prince, Iris goes a little stiff. Gladio cringes a little, remembering how just recently she declared that she would get over her feelings for Noct, possibly due to his presumed engagement to the Lady Lunafreya. Even though it seemed more and more likely that that wouldn’t actually go through, Gladio saw the way the kid looked at Blondie and was secretly relieved that his sister wouldn’t have to be properly rejected before she gave up on that particular hope. 

“Really, that just sparked it, though,” he says, trying gracelessly to move past his slip-up, “It’s more like… it can’t be possible to be good at everything, right?”

Iris tilts her head and considers.

“I dunno, it is Ignis. I can’t imagine him failing at anything.” She locks eyes with her brother again, before adding, “Basically, he’s perfect.”

Gladio doesn’t like the way that she said that, like she’s hiding something behind the words. He’s fairly sure she doesn’t have feelings for Ignis, what with the whole Noct thing, but the thought flits through his mind unbidden and makes his stomach roil a bit. He tries not to think about that possibility.

“What?” he asks, when she still stares at him for a minute longer. Iris just huffs and rolls her eyes. She’s been spending too much time with Cindy and Aranea, Gladio thinks. She used to be much sweeter. Not that he would ever accuse the ladies of corrupting his kid sister. He still very much values his life, thank you. 

“Try art,” Iris states finally, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him doing anything like that before.”

Gladio blinks once, then beams brightly at her.

“Thanks, Iris. That might be perfect.”

By the time dinner wraps up and Gladio finishes washing and drying the dishes, Ignis has sent a succinct email, outlining a few different possibilities throughout the remainder of the week that he might have a few hours to spare. After looking them over, Gladio’s suspicions that Ignis’s work week could kill a lesser man are confirmed. He shoots back an equally quick email asking him to keep the afternoon open in three days’ time, and also confirming that Ignis would be in his normal room-turned-office at the Citadel in the morning. 

The next day he cuts his morning workout short. Only about an hour past sunrise he finds himself making his way up the stairs of the capitol building, a little brown parsel in hand. He feels unreasonably nervous about popping by so early, something about the empty quiet of the courtyard creating a sense of intrusion, but he’s already here so he might as well see this through. 

Ignis’s office is shockingly small. It always reminds Gladio of how hard Ignis has to work to get a modicum of the respect that people give away freely to those with higher prestige. One of the few real arguments Ignis has had with Gladio stemmed from the older man taking his frustration about Ignis’s treatment out on some visiting dignitaries. Since then, he’s tried to keep his displeasure to himself and find some joy in watching Ignis destroy those that underestimate him with his words and his work ethic. Still, whenever he makes his way to this side of the Citadel, he always has to bite his tongue to keep from suggesting that Ignis asks for better digs. 

Gladio knocks once on the door, but he doesn’t wait before stepping inside. Unsurprisingly, Ignis is already inside, likely there from before the sun came up, working diligently on some important matter or another. What is surprising, however, is that Gladio has caught him in a moment of private respite, two folded hands pressed into the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, and glasses conspicuously removed. Gladio frankly doesn’t remember the last time he saw his friend without his lenses on. He wears them even when sparring, and typically only takes them off once in the shower already. He finds himself frozen at the sight. 

Luckily, Ignis takes only a moment to look up and notice the man awkwardly loitering halfway inside his doorway.

“Gladio? What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”

“Hey, yeah, everything’s fine!” Gladio assures quickly. Ignis’s frown eases, but the confusion remains. Gladio wonders if, perhaps, he misjudged whether a surprise visit would be appreciated.

“I just know you’ve got a lot going on, so I brought this.” The brown package draws Ignis’s attention, and he furrows his brow in a very endearing way. Without his glasses on, the man looks softer. Gladio clears his throat and steps inside. It only takes two paces before he’s standing at Ignis’s desk, and he hands over his gift easily.

“You didn’t have to go so far,” Ignis says, but Gladio waves a hand at him dismissively. 

“What are friends for,” he assures. Honestly, Ignis could really use more people looking out for him. This is the literal least he could do.

“Oh,” Ignis says softly upon opening the package, “On second thought, you absolutely should have.”

Gladio laughs at the show of appreciation, glad that something as simple as a can of coffee and a freshly baked roll can bring his friend some joy at the start of a long day. Ignis wastes no time in cracking open the Ebony, sighing into it like he’s sinking into a comfortable chair. He closes his eyes again, taking a moment to breathe. Gladio looks away, suddenly feeling like he’s intruding. His eyes catch on the cover of a well-worn, hefty looking text sitting propped open on the desk. 

“Wait,” he says, unbidden. Ignis takes a moment to slip his lenses onto his face again, and Gladio feels oddly disappointed, like he’s failed some test and caused his friend to put up his walls again. Still, when Ignis looks questioningly at him, he continues his question. “Is that ancient Accordian? Can you even read that?”

Ignis’s eyes flit to the page clinically. He inspects it the way one might inspect a particularly troubling mess, or how Jared looks when he finds that ants have made their way into the house again. Gladio tries not to find this amusing.

“Not as well as I should, unfortunately. It’s taking longer than expected to translate some etchings on one of the several relics found a few weeks back in an archeological dig outside of Altissia.”

“Why are you even trying? Isn’t there someone, y’know, actually from Accordo who can figure that out?”

Ignis smiles wryly, the smile that means he wishes he had an answer that would satisfy him.

“The lady Camelia Claustra herself has requested that, in the spirit of solidarity, Lucis will help them in a portion of… ‘maintaining Accordo’s individual cultural history,’ as she put it. His Highness believes it to be a show of support and a subtle intimation for her desire for Accordian freedom from Niflheim control. As I have some experience with the language, I was tasked with this particular relec.”

Gladio crosses his arms over his chest and frowns.

“So you got roped into a political statement that made you relearn a dead language. By a woman who didn’t even bother to publicly disavow Niflheim. Don’t they know you have other things to do? Like, a hundred of them?”

“I am…” Ignis takes the time to choose his words carefully, “Grateful, to be of use. And proud, to be honored with His Majesty’s trust in such a delicate matter. I simply wish I had kept up with that particular branch of study after leaving the academy.”

Gladio drops his hands to his side, shoving his thumbs in his pockets. He wishes he could take this as an acceptable conclusion to his hunt for a weakness in Ignis, but he knows better than that. Ignis’s expectations for himself far exceed most others’ standards. “Not as good as he should” likely meant that his vocabulary was rusty and he needed to use a dictionary rather than just being able to read it from the get-go. Besides, for him to be tasked with something like this, he had to be highly respected, not just by King Regis but by other linguists in the state. 

“I’m sure you’re doing fine, Iggy,” he says instead of all this, “They can wait long enough for you to enjoy breakfast.” 

“Well,” Ignis responds, “I wouldn’t want to put your kindness to waste. Thank you, sincerely, Gladio. You didn’t have to come all this way.”

“Ignis, c’mon. It’s fine. I like to do nice things for my friends every once in a while. Lets me boost my ego.” 

“Oh, dear. I’m not sure we can handle it getting much bigger,” Ignis says, feigning concern. The mischievous glint in his eye makes Gladio want to take the bait, but he allows the comment to pass by easily enough. It’s been about twenty minutes, by this point, and while he’s genuinely enjoying the easy company, he’s wondering if he’s beginning to overstay his welcome. Especially with how busy the other man is, all the time, constantly.

“I’ll let you get back to it, then,” he says. Ignis’s eyes flick back up to meet Gladio’s, and though he looks like he might tell him it’s alright, the logical side seems to win out in the end and he settles on a nod.

“Alright. Thank you, again. I’ll try to return the favor sometime soon.”

“You cook for me all the time, Iggy, this really can’t compare- no really. Stop it, I mean it, it’s nothing,” Gladio insists as Ignis tries to disagree. He makes his way back out the door, not leaving room for any more argument, but he tosses out a quick “See you Thursday” over his shoulder before shutting it behind him completely. 

Three and a half hours later, a text comes through to Gladio as he’s training with Noct. 

“I made a breakthrough. Must’ve been the coffee. Thanks:-)”

Gladio snorts at the emoticon, so contradictory to Ignis’s persona. And, well, if he takes it easy on Noct after that, it’s probably just because the kid deserves a break, every now and again. 

By the time Thursday afternoon rolls around, Gladio only really has half an idea of what he and Ignis are going to do when they meet up. He found a place that seems interesting, a little cafe that rents out art supplies, that seems like he can both make sure Ignis actually relaxes some and also can snoop and try and see if maybe he’s totally useless at watercolor or some shit. It feels a little less disingenuous if he tries to help the man have a good time, so Gladio resolves to do his best. He even calls the place and asks if he can reserve a spot and pay in advance to make sure Ignis can’t talk him into splitting the admittedly very pricey bill. 

Ignis picks him up in one of the company cars, sleek and fancy and fitting him to a goddamned T. The set of his shoulders and the vague, distracted look in his eye tells Gladio that work had been long today. He slides silently into the passenger side, keeping silent as Ignis makes his way back onto main roadways. They stay in this subdued quiet for the majority of the drive, only broken by Gladio’s occasional directions. By the time they reach a parking lot close to their destination, the tension behind Ignis’s expression has faded. 

Pulling into park, Ignis sits a moment without making a move to exit. He turns to look at Gladio, eyes flitting over his face.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been good company. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine Iggy. You seem a little stressed out,” Gladio adds, taking a moment to consider. “You know, it’s okay if you have to cancel, even now. It’s good for you to get a break, but I don’t want you to feel like you gotta hang out with me if it’s gonna cause problems later.”

“I think,” Ignis says with a subtle tilt of his head, “Returning to the office right now could very well kill me.”

It’s such an absurd statement, coming from the man who refuses to admit to his own fatigue on a daily statement, that Gladio doesn’t even bother hiding his guffaw. 

“Let’s go, then,” he says, opening the car door. He smacks his head on the way out, but Ignis politely ignores it and they make their way down the few blocks until their destination. The air is cool, a brief reprieve from the relentless heat that’s been pounding down throughout the week. When they arrive at the cafe, Gladio swings the door open and holds it for Ignis, who just shoots him a curious glance and follows his lead. 

The pleasant hostess at their makes a little “ah,” sound when Gladio introduces himself. He can’t decipher the knowing look she shoots him after seeing Ignis step up beside him, but she leads them to the emptiest corner of the place.

“Art supplies are around the corner, and the bathroom is back that way! I’ll be back with your orders in a bit, take your time and enjoy,” she says quickly before leaving them on their own. 

“Art supplies,” Ignis asks, looking at the other patrons, all in various states of focus on their projects, pens, pencils, paints, and even crayons scattered about.

“I thought it might be fun,” Gladio says in way of an answer. “C’mon, let’s go see what they have.”

What they have, it turns out, is everything under the sun. The supplies aren’t particularly high quality, per se, but they’re varied and in good condition, well worth the justification of the entry fee. Gladio grabs a stack of lightly textured parchment paper, a soft tipped pencil with a sturdy looking erasure, and a black pen. Ignis takes a bit more time, examining each of the various options. Eventually he settles on a simple set of acrylics and a few brushes of different sizes. 

“I didn’t know you drew,” Ignis says as they situate themselves back at their table. Gladio looks up from attaching his paper to a makeshift easel (more of a clipboard if he’s being honest).

“I used to do it with my mom, as a kid. I kept it up after, but I don’t have as much time to sit down and work on anything these days.” Talking about his mom always made him feel awkward, like he was asking for sympathy or something, so he quickly moves on. “The last thing I actually finished was a tattoo design for Nox and some of the other Glaives.”

Ignis hums, pausing in his own movements seemingly from surprise. He looks up, and Gladio feels caught by the gaze, unexpectedly bright and impressed. He finds himself shifting a bit, breaking eye contact. It’s not like it’s anything special, anyway.

“It’s just a tattoo,” he asserts defensively when those eyes don’t look away.

“Quite. Only something several people entrusted you to create that will stay on their bodies, forever. Nothing big.” 

Usually, Gladio loved Ignis’s sarcasm. It reveals the man’s more judgemental side, and is typically dry and quick and funny. Currently, Gladio hates it. Is it warm in here? He feels warm.

Luckily the same woman who took their order stopped by at that moment to deliver their drinks. Ignis, as is typical, ordered black coffee in the largest size available. Gladio’s floral tea arrived in a beautifully detailed cup, the matching pot resting besides it for refills whenever necessary. Ignis dropped whatever further comments he might have had in store in favor of taking a long drag of coffee. 

“Better than a can of Ebony?” Gladio asked, mostly just to get Ignis to shoot him a playfully offended glare. He was not disappointed.

“Ebony is convenient, inexpensive, and has twice the normal amount of caffeine than the average cup. It is,” he punctuates by putting his mug down and leaning back in his chair, “the perfect cup of coffee.”

“Yeah,” Gladio needles, “Except that it tastes like shit.”

Ignis doesn’t rise to Gladio’s bait, choosing instead to pick up his brush and dunk it delicately into the cup of water provided. His eyebrows are raised in the tell-tale sign of “agree to disagree,” but the set of his lips betrays his amusement. Gladio blinks, turning to look at his own, conspicuously blank paper. After just a moment of consideration, he gets to work laying down some basic shapes.

Conversation peters out for minutes at a time, the scritching of Gladio’s pencil only interrupted by frequent breaks to sip at their rapidly cooling drinks. About a half hour passes before a soft noise of frustration breaks Gladio’s intense concentration. Ignis has a funny little frown on his face. It reminds Gladio of his sister, only more unexpected. 

“What? Something wrong?”

Ignis sighs and tilts his head one way, then another. He’s clearly observing his work and finding it lacking. Gladio’s heart squeezes. Maybe this is it. Maybe he’s found something Ignis can’t do. He tries to subtly sneak a peek at the canvas, but Ignis just as naturally tilts it away from him again.

“I haven’t touched paint since… Well, likely since Noctis took an art class,” Ignis explains, a little exasperated, a little fond. “It is… not turning out how I might have hoped.”

“Can I see?” Gladio asks with what he hopes is a normal amount of interest. 

“Maybe when I’m finished,” Ignis responds coolly, dipping a detailing brush into some white paint. Gladio goes back to work on his own piece, decidedly more distracted than when he first began. By the time the tactician finally lays his brushes down and wipes the excess paint off his fingertips as best he can, the sun has gone down and most of the patrons have trickled out into the summer evening. Gladio’s pencil sketch is complete, though he hasn’t quite finished as much detail work with the pen as he’d like. He, like his friend, had kept it as much of a secret as he could while working on it. 

“Well?” Gladio prompts, flashing a smirk and a raised brow. Ignis simply rolls his eyes and hands his still-drying work over.

And it’s… Well.

“It’s Insomnia,” Gladio notes, quietly. The cityscape is abstracted, but clearly identifiable. If he had to hazard a guess, Gladio would say it’s the view specifically from Prince Noctis’s penthouse apartment. The buildings seem hazy, a strange mix of missing and present details in black and white. The only color on the page is a dusky blue emanating from the Citadel in the distance. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Ignis says, but it’s the clipped response to a pleasantry, like answering a morning greeting on the way into the office. Gladio frowns.

“I’m serious. It… it looks exactly like the memory of it. Knowing you, it wasn’t supposed to look abstract, but it… captures the whole feel of it. Standing in Noct’s place and looking out.” Gladio looks at Ignis to find his eyes met with a look of affectionate appreciation. He swallows. “It’s perfect. As usual.”

“Let’s see yours, then,” Ignis readjusts his glasses and sits back, “I expect it will have the benefit of years of practice.”

Gladio shrugs and goes to hand his own clipboard over, hesitating at the last second. 

“One sec,” he says, jumping up and looking around. He finds a silver paint pen laying on an abandoned table and figures it'll work well enough. With a few final lines, the piece looks more or less completed and he hands it over with a satisfied nod. 

Ignis lets out a soft gasp, subconsciously bringing a hand up to touch the page.

“Hey, stop that,” Gladio smacks the errant hand away with a lighthearted gripe, “You’ll smudge it.”

‘It’ is a realistic rendering of Ignis himself, eyes focused down and expression as close to quietly content as Gladio could make it. It’s only a bust, but silver ink denotes the subject’s simple skull pendant, a gift from Noctis, and emanates a starburst behind Ignis’s head. Gladio is pretty happy with how it had turned out, especially the way he managed to capture Iggy’s calm concentration. The man himself was sharp and soft in equal measure and Gladio took great care to make sure he represented him properly. 

“Well?” he asks after an uncomfortably long silence. “Do you like it?”

“Like it?” Ignis repeats incredulously, “It’s… immaculate. I’ve never seen myself look so…” 

Ignis trails off, clearly unsure how to end that sentence. Gladio just shrugs a shoulder, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck as he realizes for the first time that this might be an awkward thing, to have spent so much time on a portrait without the subject knowing. Oh, well, he thinks, it’s too late now. 

“It’s far nicer than my own,” Ignis states. His words leave no room for argument, which of course leads Gladio to scowl and argue immediately.

“What are you talking about? First of all, they’re two different mediums in two different styles, and you really can’t compare them. Second of all, I draw all the fuckin’ time, you sat down with something like five years between your last time doing art and now and made something that good?” He jabs a finger at Ignis’s cityscape. “I think you’d outpace me in a month of regular practice, and I’ve been doing this my whole life.”

“Practice or no,” Ignis says, purposefully keeping his voice obnoxiously diplomatic, because he knows Gladio hates it, and because he’s an ass, “I doubt I’ll ever manage to make something like this. I don’t know how you’ve managed it- Prompt always tells me he can’t even photograph me properly.”

“Prompto,” Gladio says haughtily, “Is a novice.”

Whatever Ignis had planned to say next dies in an abrupt laugh, quickly smothered by a pale hand. Gladio smirks, feeling by all rights that he’d won that argument, when their waitress clears her throat at their sides. And well, if Gladio pointedly ignores the smug look Ignis shoots his way after he startles at the noise, no one can blame him.

“I’m sorry, sirs, but we’re closing in just a few minutes. I wanted to let you know, and to offer some of our to go boxes to keep your work safe.”

“To go boxes” really ended up being old shipment packaging, but neither Gladio nor Ignis really had any hard feelings over it. After making sure that nothing would happen to either piece during transit, Gladio picks up both boxes and makes towards the doorway.

“Gladio, the bill-” Ignis starts, but their waitress cuts him off.

“Already taken care of. Have a wonderful rest of your evening, sirs.”

Gladio hadn’t bothered to slow down and now stands holding the door open with one arm. Ignis turns to him slowly, lips drawn tight in disapproval.

“Gladiolus-” he tries again, but even the use of the full name won’t deter Gladio.

“How about this, then Iggy. We can swap them.” The long suffering sigh he gets conveys Ignis’s defeat and Gladio grins to himself when the man simply walks out into the night air. “I’ll take yours home and you can have mine, if you really like it so much. That way they’ll both go somewhere that they’ll be appreciated.” 

Ignis glances back as he waits for his companion to catch up to him. He seems to consider the proposal, weigh it against his irritation at Gladio’s refusal to let him pay, and nods.

“I think that would be lovely,” he says finally. By the time they make it to the car, any lingering annoyance has disappeared, fabricated or otherwise. The two chat amicably as Ignis drives back to the Amicitia family home. Gladio can’t remember the last time Ignis has looked this relaxed. At the very least, he seems present in a way that he usually can’t afford. It’s nice. Maybe even better than if Gladio found out he actually sucked at art. Seems a silly concept now, what with subjectivity and all that, anyway. 

He’s reaching for the handle to leave the car when Ignis places a hand on his shoulder. 

“Wait. Thank you for today, Gladio. For all of it. I… likely needed that more than I would’ve cared to admit.”

“Anytime,” Gladio says, and then figures he might as well double down on that, because today was a good day. “Actually, if you find time, we should hang out more regularly, without the kids. Consider it a day off for you, even if it’s only a few hours a week.”

Ignis just kind of looks at him for a minute. Gladio almost retracts the offer, apologizes for assuming that Ignis had the time for that, but he holds his tongue. Eventually, the adviser nods.

“I’d like that. I’ll let you know when I’m available. Goodnight, Gladio.”

“Night, Iggy.”

Iris is still up, sitting in the living room, when Gladio makes his way inside. She raises an eyebrow in questioning when she sees him, but he just shakes his head.

“No dice. He’s good at this too.” 

“Tough break,” she says. Gladio thinks she might be humoring him. 

Ignis keeps his word and sends him an invite to access a particular calendar online. Gladio laughs a bit at the concept of scheduling hanging out with a friend, up until he sees just how jam packed Ignis lives his life. Most days he works from dawn to evening, with only a few minutes break in the late afternoon, when Gladio assumes he must eat. Hopefully. Though, considering, he wouldn’t put it past Ignis to work through his lunch as well, the hypocrite. 

Even in the best circumstances, meeting up every week is impossible, Gladio realizes. It’s a miracle he managed to stay out as long as he did today. They do try their best, and in the weeks that Ignis can’t bend his schedule without breaking, Gladio makes sure to bring him breakfast at least once. They had always been friends, at least in the awkward way two people who work together tend to be, but now that they were actually spending time together one on one… Gladio realized just how much he liked Iggy’s company.  
The guy is funny. When he’s more comfortable he starts making worse and worse quips, playing up his proper demeanor so that when his puns fall flat, that itself becomes the joke. He gives up the ghost on trying to find a weakness pretty quickly. He’s almost positive “overworker” doesn’t count, and at that point it almost feels disrespectful to keep trying. Instead, he focuses on a new game, finding new and entertaining things to do or places to go every week or so. 

“You’ve been happier lately,” Noct says one day, apropo of nothing. The two of them skived off extra training for the afternoon in favor of playing the newest release in a video game series. It had been a while since they spent any down time together, just the two of them.

“What do you mean?” Gladio waits to ask until he’s destroyed Noct’s character on screen. To his credit, the prince only pouts for a moment before tossing the controller on the couch behind them. 

“I dunno, you just seem less bitchy than usual.” The pillow that Gladio throws hits his mark perfectly, causing Noct to flinch and fall backwards with a soft chuckle. “So, what is it? Something good happen?”

Gladio shakes his head, fond despite himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Princess.”

“Prompto says you must’ve gotten a girlfriend,” Noct says casually, and that surprises Gladio. A girlfriend? No, he hasn’t even been looking recently. He’s basically been spending all of his time with Noct, training with the Glaives, or with…

Oh. 

Oh, shit. 

The realization comes less like a blow and more like remembering a fact, like it had been stored safely away in the back of his mind until the perfect moment to surface. 

“What,” Noct prompts after a minute of silence. He tries again when Gladio ignores him. “Dude, what? Is it true?”

“Hm? Oh. No, no girlfriend…” Just Ignis, he thinks, and his chest gets tight. Just a friend, he reminds himself. Suddenly shaken, Gladio stands up. “Hey, sorry, I just remembered I was supposed to do something important.”

“You’re leaving?” Noct asks. The lonely tone in his voice makes Gladio falter, but his mind is spinning, so he just nods.

“Yeah, sorry. I’ll make it up to you soon, ‘kay?”

He’s already heading out the door by the time he hears Noct’s disgruntled agreement. He runs home, hopeful that some of his excess energy will burn out, and the prince has already texted him three times before he reaches his front porch. 

“It’s fine, if you do.  
Have a girlfriend, I mean.  
Don’t be weird about it because of me”

The last message really drives home the position Noct is in everyday, how everyone around him has to treat him differently. Gladio stopped feeling that way a long time ago, so he does his best to sound normal in his response. 

“Still a single man, princess. Who could tie me down?”

He can’t keep the restlessness out of his bones for too long, though, so he carelessly tosses the phone onto the kitchen counter and makes his way outside. At first, he keeps moving, going through routine exercises on muscle memory. Eventually, he just lays down in the cool grass of the backyard. A few hours later, this is where Iris finds him

“Hey,” she says, stepping out in her pajamas, “Noct texted. Said you were acting weird. Everything okay?”

Part of him wants to lie, even if she’d never believe it, even if only to himself. But he can’t even bring himself to do that, so he simply gives in instead. 

“How long do you think I’ve been in love with him?” 

The question lands like a statement, far more tentative than Gladio ever likes to be. Iris looks at him the way she always does, like she already knows, already understands him to his core, and she loves him enough to know how hard this is for him.

“Oh Gladdy, I don’t know. You always seemed to pay attention to him but… You can be kind of stupid about this stuff.”

The glare he shoots her way holds no heat, because he’s always known she’s right. Flirting and casual relationships are one thing… but shit, this is something else entirely. It’s Ignis. He lets out a long sigh. 

“I can never let him know.” 

Iris doesn’t say anything, even if she wants to disagree. She doesn’t understand, doesn’t get what it means to fall for someone with the same life path. Unwanted feelings are awkward and uncomfortable and distracting, for both sides. He would never put that on Ignis. He could never do anything to jeopardize Noctis, either, like drive a wedge between the two people supposed to protect him. Best to keep it to himself. 

Iris just looks at him sadly, and he remembers that she, too, knows what it’s like to suffer quietly for someone in this way. Gladio can’t stand that look on his baby sister’s face, even when he knows he put it there, so he just reaches out and drags her down to him. She rests her head on his chest with little resistance, like she did when she was younger and snuck into his room after a nightmare. 

“Love shouldn’t be this painful,” she says, and Gladio can’t think of anything to say to that, so they just look up at the stars in silence for a while. If his nightshirt gets a little wet where she lies, well, he just lets her cry. For him, for her own unrequited feelings, for the difficulty that the two siblings face and the circumstances that lead them there. 

“I love you, Gladdy,” she says when they make it back inside, as she lingers at the door to her room. 

“Love you too, Iris. And, thanks.”

She smiles and bounces a little on the balls of her feet. “We need to hang out more often. Especially if you’re gonna admit to having feelings inside that meat suit you call a body.”

That draws a startled laugh out of him, and something settles back into the comfort of his sister’s teasing. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he throws back, “Just let me know if you wanna cry about Princess anytime soon, and I’ll make sure to keep my schedule open.”

Iris laughs and sticks her tongue out at him. Even a month ago, that comment would have left her morosely slinking away. Gladio is glad to see she seems to be getting over her crush, even if he still doesn’t know what she saw in him in the first place. It gives him hope that he’ll be okay, too, eventually. When they finally separate for the evening, Gladio finds his chest doesn’t feel strung as tight.

The next morning comes too quickly. The sun shines directly onto his face, the light a thick orange that almost feels tangible in a way that he usually appreciates, when he spends less time moping in the late hours of night. He tries not to let his intrusive awakening sour his mood too much, even if his normal morning run seems unusually cruel. By the time he gets going, though, the movement allows him to really take some time to think. 

He can’t just start avoiding the man. Notwithstanding that their literal jobs require them to spend more than a fair share of time together, Gladio really believes that too few people treat Ignis like someone who deserves time to himself. If he has to figure out a way to make sure that his… feelings for the man don’t get in the way of his attempts to get him to relax, then so be it. He can do that. Totally. 

Turns out, nothing is that simple. 

The next couple of weeks are a crash course in how not to act like nothing has changed. Despite his best efforts, Gladio can’t help but overthink all of his actions. Feelings drip off him, he’s sure, spelling out to anyone with eyes exactly what he’s trying so hard not to think about. He zones out, fails to follow up on conversations, even Noctis manages to land a few solid hits against him during training.

“Dude,” the prince saunters over after toppling Gladio’s balance, “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” he groans, smacking a hand on his face, “Just leave me here to die.”

“And you call me dramatic,” Noct says. He prods Gladio’s thigh with the toe of his boot. “C’mon get up. Let’s go get pizza or something.” 

They go get pizza, or something. 

Gladio thinks that things must get better over time, but he’s acting so weird even when Ignis isn’t around. He starts making excuses. He still delivers coffee every Wednesday, still makes increasingly intricate plans for Thursday afternoons, but he starts cutting everything short. Morning meet-ups shrink from a half hour to five minutes, in and out, just long enough to stop in, drop off, and contemplate the ways that the morning light dances across Ignis’s skin. 

It doesn’t get better.

“I’m not feeling well,” or “I’m pretty beat” start popping out of Gladio’s mouth more and more often, despite his best efforts to maintain a casual environment for longer than an hour at a time. It’s just that, he can’t help it. If he spends too much time around Ignis, his mind starts to wander. He wonders things like if he’d be able to feel a writing-callus on Iggy’s fingers while holding his hand. If he wears matching two-piece pajama sets to bed, or if he’s less put together in the privacy of his home. What it would feel like to just stand closer, to be in his space. 

It’s all thoroughly unsettling. What’s worse is that Gladio is certain it reads on his face like a glaring, neon sign. ‘I Love You!’ it blinks, and then Gladio’s heart starts pounding. He gets so scared that Ignis already knows and is just humoring him that the weak apologies and fumbled excuses tumble out before he can help it. He feels like a fucking teenager again, except that he never had it this bad before. 

Naturally, it’s only a matter of time before Ignis is done with his bullshit. He shows up outside the Citadel gym on a day when Gladio trains the newest recruits, all long legs and sharp frown. 

“Gladio,” he says in way of greeting, “We should talk.”

There isn’t room to disagree. Gladio swallows. They go to Ignis’s place.

Gladio almost can’t believe this is the first time he’s ever been to Ignis’s apartment, what with how long he’s known the man. It’s not nearly as large as Noctis’s penthouse or the Amicitia home, and sparsely decorated, but looks comfortable. The kitchen, especially, looks lived in. He takes his time to explore the space, until his eyes catch on a picture frame on the bookshelf. It’s the drawing, Gladio’s drawing, of Ignis on that first night. He had it framed. Gladio isn’t sure he’ll be able to handle this.

Luckily for him, Ignis wastes little time in getting to the purpose of this impromptu visit. Unluckily for him, that purpose is exactly what he feared it would be.

“It would be prudent of you to tell me what’s wrong,” Ignis states. As if it’s that simple. As if Gladio could just say it. But Gladio has no words. He shrugs instead, failing to portray confusion, or innocence, or anything that would get him out of this. Iggy’s expression shifts from stern admonition to uneasy concern. “Gladio, please…”

“You really are good at everything, aren’t you?” Gladio interrupts meekly, trying desperately to distract the man in front of him. “It’s not enough to be brilliant and talented, you have to be good at reading people too?”

It comes out tinted with real exasperation, but Gladio thinks he hides it behind played-up faux frustration well enough to not come across as truly angry. Ignis just squints at him, head tilted, like he’s figuring out a puzzle and is displeased with the end result. Gladio tries not to squirm. 

“What do you mean? I’ve told you before, there are plenty of things I can’t do.”

It might be irritating that someone so competent keeps dismissing his talent, if Gladio didn’t know that the modesty comes from very real feelings of inadequacy. For the moment, he’s just grateful for the chance to steer the conversation in a different direction. 

“C’mon, Ignis. You cook like a goddamn master, you read ancient languages, you seem to find extra hours in the day to do the jobs of four other people, and you even manage to get Princess to school on time in the mornings.” He stays quiet for a beat, to make sure Ignis is really listening. “You’re pretty much perfect.”

The words are genuine and heartfelt, but they don’t seem to have the intended effect. Ignis just frowns deeper, breaking eye-contact. The air feels sticky, thick, like it’s trying very hard to remain unbreathed. Or maybe that’s just Gladio’s fast-beating heart, treacherously trying to escape its confines and confess all the things he shouldn’t say. 

“So, it is something that I’ve done, then,” Ignis says softly. He’s still not looking at Gladio, which makes the larger man frown. Before he can ask anything, Ignis lets out a soft breath and turns back to face him. “I am sorry, Gladio, if I’ve upset you somehow. Please know it was not my intention, and I will work to make it up to you.” 

“What? No, you haven’t upset me at all.”

Ignis shoots him a skeptical look. “You’ve been unhappy recently. Distant, though you pretend not to be. You keep smiling but we’ve all noticed, even Noct. Prompto suggested a mandatory sleepover, but I suspected that it may be related to me somehow. I figured I should apologize first and foremost.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with you, Iggy.” A lie, but the melancholy look on his face was starting to make Gladio feel like he really had fucked all this up beyond repair, and the longer it lingered, the more the urgency to fix it grew.

Count on Gladio to fail at that too, though.

“I see.” And Ignis’s face suddenly takes on a very composed quality, almost like watching him put on a mask. It was the face he gave to people that he had no interest in speaking to, that were too important to brush off, a face he used to hide his true feelings. Gladio hated that face. Looking at it now felt like drowning. “In that case, I am sorry to have bothered you about it.”

Ignis stood up as if to leave. Gladio’s desperation has him jump to his feet, too, trying to keep Ignis here and fix this, however he could.

“Wait, Iggy,” he says, and it comes out like a plea, “Stop, it’s not….” 

The words get stuck in his throat. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to fix this and put everything back to normal. He wishes he never realized how he felt, wishes he were better at hiding it. His sister’s words float through his head, love isn't supposed to be this painful. Ignis has stopped, but he’s still wearing that damned smile, like everything is okay when it’s clearly not. Gladio doesn’t have the time to think about his own hypocrisy, so instead lets out a groan and shoves his hand into his hair.

“It’s alright, Gladio, I understand,” Ignis says calmly. And then, Gladio just… can’t, anymore. He can’t do it. Ignis whittles his will power away to nothing on a good day, but this is too much.

“It’s not okay, Ignis, you don’t understand. I’m not angry with you, I’m in love with you.” 

The world didn’t feel this quiet before the words left his mouth, but Gladio can’t hear anything now. At least his heart has stopped hammering, though it feels like it may have stopped entirely now. Gladio slumps. So much for never letting him know. He can’t bring himself to look at Ignis, except that he can’t help himself to not. He glances at the man’s face to try and gauge a reaction and just sees…. Well. Shock. Which is to be expected. Gladio starts fumbling.

“Listen, I’m sorry, but don’t worry, it’s really okay. I don’t expect you to feel the same, you don’t have to… worry or anything. I wasn’t even gonna say anything, but I didn’t want you thinking you’d done anything wrong, and it seemed like you really weren’t gonna believe me otherwise, so I just… But you didn’t do anything wrong, Iggy, you couldn’t have. It’s on me that… That I… Well. But it’s fine, I’ll get over it and I won’t bother you about it, I promise. Just… Give me some time.”

At this point Ignis has turned to face Gladio fully, and that careful mask has been replaced by quiet contemplation. Gladio tries not to fidget under his piercing eyes. It takes a moment or two for Ignis to find his words again, and then another beat after that for him to consider which words were best. 

“I have, in the past, had a hard time reading people. I’ve worked very hard to become better at understanding others, recognizing their motives, anticipating their reactions. I like to think that I’ve come a long way.” 

Gladio isn’t sure where this is going, or what Ignis means, but so long as he’s not running away disgusted or, worse, believing that Gladio holds some disdain for him, then he’s willing to let the man speak for as long as he wants. 

“Furthermore,” Ignis continues, “I pride myself on my ability to maintain focus on any given task. I do not have the time to be distracted, so I do not become distracted. Simple. Or it was, that is. Until you.” 

Gladio doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t move. Ignis just looks at Gladio, like he’s not the reason his heart stops. “What do you mean,” he whispers, incapable of anything else. Ignis lets out a breathy laugh.

“What I mean, is that I cannot read you. I have a hard time ignoring you. I become distracted by you. You wanted to find out what my weakness was? You, despite my best efforts, are my weakness, Gladio. How could I admit that the things I can’t do all revolve around you.”

“Iggy…” Gladio tries.

“One more thing,” Ignis interrupts, raising a slender finger. He speaks his next words slowly and clearly, voice a razor’s edge. “Don’t you dare apologize for telling me you love me.”

“Ignis,” Gladio repeats. When he’s sure he has the other man’s attention, he takes a small step closer. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Yes,” and here Ignis laughs again, breathless and incredulous and beautiful, “I rather think you should.”

Their lips meet and everything simply stops. Gladio never believed those stories about the world falling away as lovers kiss. He should have known that Ignis would surpass all his expectations, all his fantasies, all his half-formed daydreams. Nothing could compare to the reality of it, the heat of Ignis’s mouth slotting perfectly against his own, the sturdiness of his shoulders and neck under Gladio’s palms. It’s less that the world falls away and more that Ignis simply grows to encompass all that Gladio can think of. All he cares to think of. And once he stops pouring all his affection into their kiss, Gladio has just enough awareness to feel that Ignis is doing just the same, in equal measure. 

They break apart after some time, but they stay huddled in the same space. At some point they moved to the edge of the couch, with Ignis leaning on its arm as Gladio holds his face. 

“You should have led with that,” Ignis says and Gladio laughs. He looks at the disheveled man in front of him, the way his hair falls and his eyes crinkle like he’s incapable of keeping the smile off his face. And he loves him. He kisses him again. 

This second kiss lasts less time than the first, since Ignis keeps laughing and Gladio can’t stop smiling, so they just rest against one another instead, Gladio bending to put his forehead on the place where Ignis’s shoulder meets his neck. Occasionally, he peppers light kisses where he can reach, here, but they’re absentminded things, finally able to get themselves out of his system. 

“I love you, Iggy,” he breathes again. Ignis giggles and threads his hands through Gladio’s hair. 

“I love you, too. And I’m not sorry about it.”

Gladio can’t help but laugh at that either, tilting his head so that he can look at that smile that’s drawn him in in every way. It’s brighter now. Less restrained.

“Will you please go out with me,” Gladio asks eventually, not bothering to care that he sounds like a teenager in love for the first time because. It makes Ignis snort and slap his shoulder lightly.

“Yes, you oaf. Of course I will.” 

Gladio beams at him, and Ignis smiles back, and for a moment they’re just two idiots in love, smiling at one another. Then Gladio groans and straightens up.

“Iris is going to give me such crap about this,” he complains, but Ignis just gives him an unimpressed stare.

“I’m more concerned over Noctis.”

They both play at irritable apprehension, but they both know better. Their friends and family will be thrilled for them, because they both want them to be happy. Ignis makes him happy. Gladio knows he will work damn hard to make sure that he can do the same for Iggy. If nothing else, that’s something he can excel at.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a specific AU in mind for this that revolves around the attack on Insomnia happening earlier and the four boys being around to help… and while I know that they likely wouldn’t have had much chance of affecting anything, in my AU they manage to push the advance off. Noctis and Luna kind of agree after that that their marriage isn’t exactly the most pressing thing (which incidentally might relieve them both a little…) so they stay in the city and plan just a normal road trip. Will I ever write that? Maybe…
> 
> Also I wish that a cafe like the one I wrote existed. Maybe it does, but it would be so expensive lol. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


End file.
